


A Moveable Feast

by sunalso



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Food, M/M, Romantic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:34:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23521657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunalso/pseuds/sunalso
Summary: Set pre-series and then into the start of episode 2.Soulmates share a special bond, one that lets them taste what the other is eating. As a Witcher, Geralt shouldn't even have a soulmate, but the proof is in the pudding, or the mushy banana, to be exact. After years of being sure his soulmate is living a blessed life, changes in his soulmate's eating habits lead Geralt to do something he never planned, find his soulmate to make sure they're safe.Beta'd by Gort!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 121
Kudos: 1249
Collections: Fave Stories of Queixo





	1. Breakfast

The hound, the kind from the Wild Hunt, not the average mangy mutt kept in a kennel, gurgled as it died. Geralt pulled his sword free of the beast’s entrails and shook the blood from it. He raised it as he slowly turned, straining for any sign of a second hound. Usually, they traveled in packs, though what this one was doing in a cave at the edge of a swamp he had no idea.

Fetid air filled his nose and he had to carefully step over patches of green slime. His boots still squelched on the floor and he hoped he could get the stink out later. The townspeople hadn’t been able to pay him very well to kill the monsters that’d been taking their goats. It’d been a surprise they hadn’t tried to pay him in goats.

A sound from his right had him spinning that direction. Every nerve tightened like a drawn bowstring as he readied himself. Geralt drew in a deep breath, ignoring the rot of the swamp, and centered himself.

A rat, fur matted, squeaked and ran past his boot.

He sighed. Rodents. His gaze swept over the rock walls of the cave. Torchlight flickered from the two he’d set at the cave’s entrance, casting shadows that danced amid the roots of plants that hung from the roof.

The taste of overripe banana filled his mouth.

Geralt lowered his sword and spat. The taste didn’t go away.

Could it be magic? But what would the point of making him taste bananas be? A distraction? Growling, he readied his sword again. No two-bit witch would get rid of him because of the taste of bananas.

Three steps deeper into the cave, the banana disappeared, only to be replaced immediately. The taste of very thin gruel coated his tongue.

Seriously, if someone wanted to demand his attention, demanding it with the flavors of baby food was a terrible tactic. They could just ask.

Baby food.

He could taste baby food.

Geralt winced as the full meaning of what it meant to taste food he wasn’t eating hit him like a charging minotaur.

He had a soulmate. A few months ago, a woman had given birth to a child and now that child was eating—thank goodness for the small favor of not having to taste anything prior to the bananas. He would be in for years of terrible tastes. Mushy peas. Soggy carrots. Wonderful.

A soulmate.

Geralt thought that had become an impossibility when he’d…

The proof of how very wrong that idea was filled his mouth.

Damn it, his life had no room for some clingy young person who was fated to love him. Poor bastard wouldn’t be happy when he, or she, discovered their destiny was a Witcher. Maybe, if Geralt was very lucky, he’d never run into his soulmate.

He made a face as the banana taste returned. Couldn’t this kid’s family feed him a nice roast pheasant?

A growl echoed out of the dark. A second and third one joined. Creeping cold teased against his face, making him shiver. Ah, he’d found the rest of the pack. He hoped he wouldn’t get too much blood in his mouth, no barely weaned babe needed to know that taste.

“Fuck,” he said, realized he was already worried about his soulmate.

One of the hounds bayed and Geralt braced himself. Time to earn his pay.

#

The banquet hall was filled with bright lights, brightly colored clothing, and all the brightest individuals among his father’s vassals. Julian swung his legs in his chair at the high table. At nine, he couldn’t quite reach the floor yet. The laughter and babble of the gathering washed over him. The musicians to one side occupied most of his attention as they played music and sang songs of love and daring-do.

Julian loved music, especially how it could make a story better. It was always easier to remember a verse from a song about an old king instead of dry facts from a boring book.

He’d picked at his dinner, too enthralled with how one of the mistrals had tuned his lute to pay much attention to the cod and greens on his plate.

Beside him, his father laughed loudly and slammed a tankard of ale down in front of Julian. “Boy, you’re getting old enough, drink.”

He didn’t want to, but nobody ever told his father no, least of all him. Julian picked up the heavy stein and took a sniff. It smelled familiar. Frowning, he took a quick gulp. The taste that filled his mouth was strong, heavy with flavors he couldn’t identify, but they were all ones he knew well. This actually tasted better than what his mouth usually did before he went to bed. Julian had another sip.

His father roared with mirth. “That’s my boy!”

Confused, Julian handed him the tankard back. His father slapped him heartily on the back, and Julian lurched in his chair from the blow, but the musicians began another song, this one with a livelier tune that Julian swung his feet in time to.

His mother sat down in the chair next to him and leaned in close. “Don’t tell anyone,” she whispered.

“Tell what?”

“That you can taste things that you’re not eating. When you’re in a position others might envy, having a soulmate is nothing but a weakness. Someone else can find your soulmate and use them against you.” Julian’s stomach flipped. He had no idea who this soulmate might be, but he never wanted to be the reason they got hurt.

He’d read about soulmates, in a book less exhausting than history, but hadn’t put together the tastes in his mouth with sharing the sense with another person. The one person in the whole world he was meant to love. His feet stilled, even as the flavor of onion overwhelmed his tongue. “I’ll keep them safe,” Julian murmured.

His mother rose gracefully and smiled at his father.

Julian ran his tongue over his teeth, relieved as the taste he now knew to be ale washed away the onion.

He grinned as the minstrels launched into his favorite ballad. He sang along under his breath and hoped his soulmate liked music.

#

The stars overhead twinkled, uncaring of the troubles of the people looking up at them.

Geralt, stretched out on his bedroll, only had one worry at the moment. His soulmate.

For being someone that Geralt hoped to never meet, he spent a lot of time worrying about the jerk. That’s what Geralt had named his soulmate, Jerk. The Jerk was the reason Geralt currently found himself on the ground with Roach dozing a few feet away. The spot was nice, with a stream close by which tinkled over its rocky bed and trees that sighed in a faint breeze. It also smelled of nothing but deer, foxes, and rabbits. It wasn’t better than the warm bed he’d been in earlier, but that widow had become a lot less thankful and tossed him out on his ass when Geralt had refused to go down on her.

You’d think killing the nekkers infesting her turnips fields would have made her a little more grateful.

Roach was better company anyway. Though a tiny part of him wished he had someone to distract him. But then he’d have to explain why he didn’t use his tongue on anyone. His soulmate was barely an adult, and for none of those years had Jerk needed to taste the nether regions of anyone.

Jerk owed him.

Not that Geralt would ever meet Jerk to collect anything. He couldn’t. Nobody deserved a Witcher as a soulmate.

Only, lately, things had changed for Jerk and Geralt found himself worrying about his soulmate.

Since moving on from baby food, Jerk’s diet had been varied and excellent. Flavorful sauces, rich soups, there was a fruit and cream dessert that Geralt particularly liked. It must be a favorite of Jerk’s because his soulmate ate it several times a week. Or he had eaten it. For the last six months, Jerk’s diet had become reminiscent of his own. Tavern fare of watered-down ale and stale bread with a sad vegetable soup.

Geralt hadn’t realized how much he enjoyed the shared flavors until they were gone. Now every day tasted the same.

It shouldn’t matter.

Food was food. At least Jerk ate fairly regularly.

It mattered.

What had happened? Jerk had obviously been part of a well-off household, but now…wasn’t.

The stars blinked blindly in the sky.

Tomorrow he’d get up and continue heading—

“Fuck.”

Roach flicked her ears towards him.

The taste of sour ale that’d been washing through Geralt’s mouth every evening—and sometimes in the afternoon or morning—tasted like the kind brewed in Dol Blathanna.

He’d thought he’d been picking a road at random, but his heart, or maybe his cock, had chosen for him.

Geralt eyed his horse, who only swished her tail.

Maybe he’d find a monster that needed killing. A great big one. With five heads. And the townsfolk would pay him triple. Well, perhaps it should only have three heads for triple payment.

Roach stamped a hoof and returned to dozing.

Fine, they were going to Dol Blathanna.


	2. Lunch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: Thank you for reading my bit of fluff! I'm dragging the timeline on Episode 2 out here a little to make it work_

The alehouse in Posada had the same drinks, food, scarred tables, rough people, and terrible music as everywhere else in the region.

After nearly a month, Geralt still hadn’t managed to track down his soulmate, but the tastes in his mouth suggested Jerk was still somewhere in the region. He needed a contract soon, his purse had gotten light, and work in this corner of the continent didn’t seem likely.

He sat, staring at the drink resting on the table as the bard warbled through another song. It was a good thing the guy had looks going for him because otherwise, he’d have trouble earning his bread.

Or maybe not, as several of the customers tossed rolls at him.

The bard scrambled around, collecting them, then sauntered right over to Geralt and had the audacity to ask for a review.

It was a very, very good thing they guy was adorable, with clear grey eyes and a mouth that could be put to better uses than singing. Still, Geralt didn’t want to encourage him.

“They don’t exist.”

Damn it, the bard continued to prattle on. He’d grabbed some drink on his way to the table, which smelt of overly sweet peach brandy. The bard probably tasted better than—

He couldn’t go there.

Standing, Geralt ignored the rather worshipful gaze of the bard, only to find himself waylaid by someone who at least had a bag of coins to offer.

The deal concluded, Geralt looked up, past the young man who’d just hired him, to where the bard leaned against a post. He lifted his mug and toasted Geralt before taking a deep drink of the peach brandy.

The nauseating taste of peaches and cheap booze filled Geralt’s mouth.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Not him.

The taste lessened as the bard lowered the mug and swiped at his lips, which were shiny from the drink. His tongue darted out to like the last few drops.

Heat flared deep in Geralt’s stomach and his cock stirred with interest.

No.

He spun away, marching out into the early afternoon sunlight. Mystery solved. Jerk had left his home to become a traveling bard, which explained the change in diet. He’d be fine. He had his lute, he had bread, Jerk would be fine.

No fresh-faced, sparkling eyed _lad_ needed a Witcher as a soulmate. 

#

Jaskier watched the Witcher’s retreating back…and ass. The man had a nice ass. Jaskier tilted his head. Nice thighs too.

Something niggled at him, deep in his gut, that had nothing to do with the lust that had settled in a lower part of his anatomy. That something felt very uneasy about the Witcher--Geralt—walking away. It didn’t seem right.

Jaskier chewed at his lip. The sting of the Witcher complaining about his songs not having real creatures in it still stung. Had the man never heard of artistic license? Poetry? Blasted metaphor?

However, it wouldn’t hurt to have a few real-world experiences for inspiration, and when would he get a better opportunity? It wasn’t his fault he’d been sheltered. This is how he’d write songs that would make him welcome at every court.

Grinning, he grabbed his lute and ran outside, across the swaying plank bridge, and did a quick circle looking for Geralt. Jaskier spotted him gathering up the reins of a large chestnut mare and thanked whatever lucky stars that the Witcher hadn’t disappeared. Holding his head high, Jaskier casually walked over to Geralt and his horse. Geralt eyed him warily.

“No,” he said.

The horse whickered softly and stuck her nose towards Jaskier. He obliged, scratching between her eyes.

“Roach,” the Witcher admonished. The horse flicked her tail at him, the ends smacking across his face.

“She likes me,” Jaskier said. “Smart horse. I’m very likable.”

Geralt’s face didn’t change. “Hm.”

Tough egg to crack, this one, but Jaskier welcomed the challenge. He rubbed his hands together. Not only would he be able to construct ballads that would echo down the ages, but he’d get practice on winning over a tough audience. If he could make this man smile, he’d have won a victory worth a thousand songs. Geralt was a very handsome man, none of this would be a hardship.

Jaskier bent at the waist in a bow, even though the Witcher seemed far from appreciative of anything Jaskier had done so far. “I am Jaskier, soon to be a bard of renown. I have decided I will join you on your solitary path. I will aid you in your quest and will spread word of your deeds far and wide, and to make you happy, all the songs will be about real foes.” Probably. Was it even possible to make a Witcher happy?

“No,” Geralt said, turning away to tighten the saddle’s girth.

“I don’t remember actually asking. And look, I already got you work. Imagine how much better it will be when I spread tales of your triumphs.”

No response.

Geralt sprung onto Roach’s back in a single smooth movement and turned the horse, forcing Jaskier to hop out of the way. Rude, that’s what that was.

“Wait!” Jaskier called as Geralt clucked at the mare, encouraging her into a trot.

The Witcher didn’t look back.

Rude.

Knowing he it was completely petty of him, but not appreciating the cold shoulder and not sure what to do with the despair threatening to bubble up, Jaskier grabbed one of the rolls out of his pockets and launched it at Geralt’s back.

The Witcher turned and nabbed it out of the air while pulling his horse to a halt.

“Lesson, bard,” he said, amber eyes cold. “You’re on your own out here. Don’t waste food.” Geralt took a bite of the roll.

Jaskier gasped as the mealy flavor of the pub’s brown rolls filled his mouth. Soulmate. His heart felt like it would beat out of his chest and fly towards the man on the horse. Would he catch it like he had the roll? The idea made Jaskier laugh, but he sobered immediately as he put it together that the Witcher had known they were destined and had still tried to ride off without him.

“You ass!” Jaskier sputtered.

Geralt broke the rule he’d just said by tossing away the roll. He sighed, then put his heels to his horse’s flanks. Jaskier jaw trembled as a sob threatened. Dismissed and left behind by his own soulmate. He dropped his head into his hands, trying to keep the tears back as his father’s words echoed in his head, the ones about never being enough. He was so much not enough that his soulmate didn’t want him.

Roach’s hoofbeats became louder, instead of fading into the distance. Jaskier looked up just in time to see the horse barreling down on him. He squeaked, sure he was about to die, but Roach swerved and Jaskier found himself lifted into the air. He ended up plopped down behind Geralt, lute banging both their legs. Jaskier wound his arms tightly around Geralt, holding on for dear life as—terrific, his soulmate smelt of horse and onions—Roach pivoted sharply and galloped away from Posada.

The broad, warm back Jaskier found himself pressed against would have been the most wonderful feeling in the word if he didn’t know his soulmate had planned to simply leave him. They’d found each other, the one person in all the world meant for them. And Geralt had turned his back. This back Jaskier was pressed against. This very nice, strong, sturdy back.

They cantered up the narrow path then through a stand of trees until Geralt pulled Roach to a stop beside a creek. She wasn’t winded, but the sun was sinking towards the horizon.

“Are we making camp?” Jaskier asked, glancing around at the scrubby trees and short grass. “It’s not a bad spot.”

Geralt grunted and pried Jaskier’s arms from around him before dropping to the ground. Jaskier followed, nearly falling as he landed. Geralt grabbed his arm to steady him, then let him go like the touch burned.

Jaskier couldn’t do this. “You were going to leave me!” he said, voice higher pitched than he would have liked. “You knew and despite destiny, you were going to ride off.”

“Yes.” He hauled his saddlebags from the horse’s back. “Fuck destiny.”

Jaskier winced. “Am I not worth anything to you?” He continued when Geralt didn’t respond. “My whole life I’ve been tasting cheap ale and roasted meat with no seasoning. I’m glad I know why. I used to curl up to sleep with those flavors on my tongue, dreaming of meeting the person who must be having so very many adventures. And it turned out to be, well, you.”

Geralt knelt beside the creek to feel a battered tin with water. “Jerk,” he said softly. “You don’t need me. This life isn’t for you. You went from eating fancy to rough bread. I made sure you were alright. You are.” He carried the tin to a flat spot of ground and set it down.

“So you get to make this decision for both of us?” The ache in Jaskier’s chest grew. “Maybe I don’t care. Maybe we’re meant to be together so I can help you and you help me.” He stepped right up to Geralt, anger making him bold. Tilting his head back, he glared. “I’m not leaving.” With each word, he poked the center of Geralt’s chest with his finger.

Geralt caught his wrist. “You are.”

“Absolutely n—“ Jaskier got cut off as Geralt yanked him against his body and covered Jaskier’s mouth with his.

The kiss was everything Jaskier had ever hoped it would be, all hard lips and rough swipes of tongue. His knees gave out, but Geralt wrapped an arm around him, keeping him upright. Jaskier managed to get his fingers into all that lovely, long hair of Geralt’s, pulling him back into the kiss when the Witcher tried to break it.

The soft moan Geralt gave as he sank back into the kiss sent lightning pulsing down Jaskier’s spine. Lust clouded every sense he had, demanding to be fulfilled. Soulmates. Perfect matches. They were made for each other, fashioned to satisfy each other’s deepest desires. In which case, Jaskier has some serious questions for his subconscious. Geralt probably had no idea he’d been longing for Jaskier either, but now they’d found each other and it’d work out. It had to. He wouldn’t be able to stand it if his soulmate tossed him into the dirt.

With a growl, Geralt palmed Jaskier’s ass and jerked him closer. Hard cock ground against hard cock and Jaskier whimpered.

Hips still moving, Geralt broke the kiss. “Do you want me?” he asked. The rough, hoarse words belied the uncertainty in his gaze.

Jaskier’s head spun. Who wouldn’t want this man? His fingers, which had somehow ended up gripping Geralt’s biceps, flexed. “Well,” Jaskier drawled, attempting to get his tongue to do the speaking thing. “I thought this cock-stand I have might be for that rock over there, or maybe that clump of weeds, but now that you mention it, I’m pretty sure it’s for you. So, yes, I want you.”

Geralt briefly closed his eyes. “Fuck.”

“We can do that,” Jaskier replied, his legs still unsteady as he rocked his hips against his soulmate. “Any way you want. I’ve got oil in my—”

“Later,” Geralt said. “Something I want to do first, something I haven’t been able to do for years.”

“Years?”

Geralt didn’t answer, instead using the arm about Jaskier to pick him and carry him over to the trunk of the nearest tree. Jaskier used the opportunity to nuzzle his nose against Geralt’s neck. His scent continued to be mostly horse, but this close Jaskier could make out muskier, male notes that had to be all Geralt. His toes curled.

“Here,” Geralt said, unceremoniously dumping Jaskier on his feet.

He sagged against the tree. The bark was rough against his back, even through layers of clothing, but Jaskier didn’t care, not when Geralt dropped to his knees and began unfastening the front fell of Jaskier’s trousers.

The pieces of what Geralt had said came together. “Wait, you haven’t sucked anyone off for years?” Jaskier asked, the words slurring, lust making his mouth clumsy.

“No.” Geralt tugged his trousers down until Jaskier’s cock sprang free. For a second, Jaskier was almost certain the corners of Geralt’s mouth quirked up.

“Why?” The word came out strangled as Geralt wrapped his very warm palm around Jakier’s shaft.

“Because I didn’t want Jer…uh, my soulmate, tasting someone else on my tongue. Especially when you were just a kid. I haven’t done this to a man or woman for nearly two decades.”

“Oh.” Jaskier put a hand on Geralt’s head. “Thank you.” The idea that the Witcher had denied himself something for so long out of respect for his soulmate made Jaskier warm inside. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything sweeter.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Geralt grumbled, then leaned forward to lick his tongue up the underside of Jaskier’s cock.

Jaskier moaned, having finally run out of words.


	3. Dinner

Geralt flicked his tongue along the underside of Jaskier’s cock, reveling in his soulmate’s whimpers and moans. His own trousers were far too tight, but Geralt welcomed the ache as something necessary. He wanted to give, to be needed. After years of denying himself, he craved the rush of being so blessedly important to someone when he was using his tongue on them.

That it was Geralt’s soulmate added another layer to his pleasure.

Destiny might be a bitch, but sometimes she got things right enough.

“You’re very good at this,” Jaskier murmured, running his hands through Geralt’s hair.

He must be doing something wrong if Jerk could say anything. Geralt sucked harder and tugged Jaskier’s trousers further down so he could cup his soulmate’s balls. They sat warm and heavy in his palm, and Jaskier’s yelp and labored breathing said he very much enjoyed the attention.

Geralt closed his eyes and slid his mouth further down his soulmate’s shaft. Everything shouldn’t feel this comfortable, as if they’d been together a lifetime instead of hours.

Jaskier groaned. His cock swelled further and his sac drew up. “Um…” he managed while tugging at Geralt’s hair. Geralt didn’t know if Jerk wanted him to stop or get closer, and possibly Jaskier didn’t either, but he knew what he needed. Geralt anchored both hands on his soulmate’s hip and encouraged him to move. Jaskier obliged, fucking Geralt’s mouth with abandon. Under Geralt’s palms, he finally stiffened and grunted as his cock pulsed with his release. Geralt gulped to keep up with it, swallowing down the musky, salty taste that belonged only to his soulmate.

Geralt opened his eyes when Jaskier groaned and leaned back against the tree behind him. His soulmate’s flushed face and contented smile rattled something loose in his chest he didn’t much want to think about. Carefully, he tucked Jaskier’s cock back in his trousers and stood. Geralt reached out to touch Jaskier’s face but forced his hand back to his side. Too much, this was far too much. He was meant to be alone.

He spun on his heel, marching off towards Roach, even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to simply leave anymore. Maybe not ever.

“Excuse me!” Jaskier cried from behind him. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

Geralt shook his head.

“Do you think you could just, what, run off?” Jaskier rabbited around to Geralt’s side, before pausing and making a face while running his tongue over his teeth. “That’s a bit odd,” he said, then frowned at Geralt. “You need to lie down and let me take care of you, I can see you’re still hard. Those pants don’t hide much.”

“You don’t have to,” Geralt said, opening a saddlebag. “I’ll get us some dinner.”

“Oh, you…I’m going to touch you.” Jaskier pressed himself against Geralt’s back, his hands sliding down Geralt’s chest until one pressed against his cock. The traitorous thing strained against his soulmate’s fingers. Dammit.

He leaned his forehead against the well-worn leather of his saddle. “You don’t have to,” he repeated, voice hoarse. “I know I can’t be what you wanted in a soulmate.”

“Of course not,” Jaskier said, and Geralt swallowed down the hurt that pushed into his throat. “I have always dreamed my soulmate would like my singing,” Jaskier sniffed.

The hurt disappeared, overwhelmed by something that felt a great deal like tenderness. He turned, his hands on Jaskier’s arms to guide him away from the horse and towards the bedroll he’d tossed down earlier. Jaskier’s lute sat not far away, and Geralt alarmingly felt fond of it too.

“I never said I didn’t like your singing.” Geralt kicked the bedroll to lay it flat. “Your voice is…” He trailed off, not sure of the right word. Nice? Tolerable? The songs needed work, but that wasn’t—He sat down, pulling Jaskier along with him. “I like your voice.”

****

Jaskier ended up straddling Geralt and had no other idea how to respond to such a lovely compliment besides kissing his soulmate. Their tongues tangled, and Geralt gave himself away by grinding up against Jaskier’s rear.

Gasping in delight, Jaskier broke the kiss. “Thank you.”

Geralt grunted.

“And you really have to stop insisting you’re not what I’d want,” Jaskier continued, his fingers plucking at the buttons of Geralt’s shirt like lute strings. “You don’t know much about me, not yet, anyway.”

“I know that your favorite food is that fruit and cream concoction you’d eat every night you got a chance.”

Jaskier stopped, a hand on Geralt’s now bare chest. The heartbeat under his had thumped agonizingly slow, the space between them silent and still. “Cook’s tarts were delicious. I hadn’t thought about the fact we’d share that memory.” He kissed the corner of Geralt’s jaw. “She made batches just for me and then let me steal them. We still played that game long after I knew better.”

Geralt’s hands slid down Jaskier’s back. “I love that taste.”

Jaskier’s fingers wandered of the planes of Geralt’s chest and belly, tracing the edges of defined muscles and the bumps of raised scars.

“I won’t tell you how I got them,” Geralt said, following the track of Jaskier’s fingers.

Jaskier ran his thumb over a nasty looking one near the waistband of Geralt’s trousers, glad the slash hadn’t gone any lower. “I don’t think I want to know,” Jaskier murmured. “Not the truth. I’ll make up very catchy stories about them anyway, in which you’re always the hero and save the girl.”

Geralt snorted. “I’m the monster, and it’s not a girl I want.”

“And aren’t I glad for that.” Jaskier held his breath as he undid Geralt’s trouser fell and finally got his hand wrapped around the prize between his soulmate’s legs. What a lovely prize it was. He fisted Geralt’s cock loosely and stroked. “When I was small, I didn’t know how to tell people that I’d eat the less seasoned, sometimes burnt ends of the meat because I’d known that taste before I could walk. My father was proud of me the first time he slammed a tankard of ale in front of me because I didn’t flinch at it on my tongue.”

“Hm.” Geralt’s lids were nearly closed.

Jaskier nuzzled in for a kiss as he pulled out the oil he’d nabbed from his supplies earlier. A sweet citrus scent filled the air as he poured the cool liquid on his palm and returned to pleasing his soulmate. The kiss deepened while Geralt’s arms tightened around him.

“Oranges,” Geralt murmured against Jaskier’s lips before the kiss became sloppier. Under Jaskier’s legs, Geralt’s thighs tightened and quivered. He came silently, exhaling softly as his release flooded over Jaskier’s hand. Geralt buried his face against Jaskier’s shoulder and clung to him while the world seemed to reorient itself around the two of them.

Jaskier fished a handkerchief from his sleeve and did a quick clean up before somehow getting Geralt to lie down on the bedroll with Jaskier spooning tight against his back.

“I don’t need—” Geralt started.

“I know, you don’t need anything or anyone.”

Geralt grunted but didn’t say anything else, not until the sun started to sink towards the horizon. He rolled over to put a hand on Jaskier’s cheek. “You have to do as I say.”

Jaskier tried not to be grumpy about having his composing—an ode about Witchers and their impressive swords—interrupted. “What? In bed?”

“No.” Geralt glared.

“Well, actually, I’m not that opposed—”

“I mean when you’re traveling with me. If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to hide, you hide.”

“Oh.” He drew it out, savoring every syllable he could add to that word. “You’re not going to leave me behind then.”

“I should.” Geralt’s eyes skittered to where Roach dozed, her head hanging down.

“And just one day taste nothing but ashes in your mouth and not even know where I am? I could end up in a ditch.” Jaskier knew he was being silly and that those were his fears for Geralt.

“No ditches.”

“Well, only because you say so.”

“Tomorrow we’ll hunt down this devil,” Geralt continued. “And if you don’t want to stay in whatever town I leave you in, you’ll do as I say.”

“Fine.” His stomach growled. “Didn’t you say something about dinner earlier?”

Geralt hefted himself to his feet, and Jaskier put a hand over his mouth to hide the grin there. What a feast his soulmate was. “I’ll hunt, you get a fire going.”

“I will, I’m excellent at finding wood.”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed.

“I’ll put the oil on to warm, for later.”

Geralt paused as he walked towards the trees. “Oranges,” he said, stalking off.

Jaskier flopped onto his back, the bedroll underneath him, and grinned at the sky.

****

Darkness had shrouded the world by the time Geralt neared the campsite with a cony and a trout in hand.

To his surprise, a neat fire, ringed with stones, burned cheerfully to welcome him. He hadn’t been sure Jerk…er, Jaskier would know how to set a campfire. A spit stood ready to go, Roach chomped grass nearby, and Jaskier sat on a fallen log by the fire tuning his lute.

The sheer rightness of the scene made Geralt pause. He should run. How could he care for someone else when darkness often dogged his every step? Only…Jaskier had set up camp, made it comfortable. He didn’t seem to expect Geralt to cater to him.

They could try this.

If it didn’t work, it didn’t work, and Geralt would find a place for his soulmate somewhere safe with walls so thick nothing, including Geralt, would ever hurt him.

He sighed and walked into the ring of firelight, making Jaskier jump.

“You’re quiet.”

Geralt grunted.

“Well, it’s good you have me then to make some noise.” Jaskier strummed the lute, the notes warm and welcoming. Just outside the ring of stones around the fire a small bottle glinted. Oranges.

“It’s good you like unseasoned meat.”

“I am fond of meat.” A glint in his soulmate’s eyes told Geralt that Jaskier had noticed him catch sight of the bottle. His bard would certainly be singing later, Geralt would make sure of it. “Now hurry up and clean dinner so we can see how the wine I have pairs with fresh game.”

The very corners of Geralt’s mouth lifted.

“Is that a smile?” Jaskier squinted at him.

For a brief second his lips betrayed him by pulling wide before he could school his mouth back to its usual expression.

Jaskier’s hands moved over the strings, playing the opening of a well-known bawdy drinking song.

“You’re going to get bored,” Geralt said, hanging the cony from a branch to skin it. Endless travel became its own kind of monotony, and he should warn his soulmate. Not that Jaskier would listen. Not that he wanted Jaskier to listen.

“With you around?” Jaskier said, still strumming. “I think not.”

Geralt’s gaze fixed on his soulmate. The future stretched out in an uncertain line before him, but as mysterious as it was, he did know that life had just become much more delicious. “Jerk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Tumblr post [ HERE ](https://sunalsolove.tumblr.com/post/616498022689521664/chapter-three-complete)
> 
> -sunAlso April 26, 2020 1548, in my living room with puppies

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm an ICU Nurse and my brain decided to handle all the stress this way. Kudos and comments very much appreciated (but especially right now) <3 <3 <3 Stay safe! 
> 
> I'm [ @sunalsolove ](https://sunalsolove.tumblr.com) on Tumblr if you'd like to give me a hollar!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] A Moveable Feast](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28548801) by [Chantress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chantress/pseuds/Chantress)




End file.
